


The (Demon's Guide to the) Care & Feeding of the Common Houseplant

by apple_pi



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-02-25
Updated: 2011-02-25
Packaged: 2017-10-15 22:35:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 574
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/165549
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/apple_pi/pseuds/apple_pi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was a dark and stormy night; Crowley was sprawled on the sofa, one snakeskin (one devoutly hopes) boot upon the coffee table, wineglass loosely cupped in his fingers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The (Demon's Guide to the) Care & Feeding of the Common Houseplant

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Magickalmolly](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Magickalmolly).



"Really, they are gorgeous," Aziraphale said, wandering over to touch the leaves of a particularly lush dieffenbachia. "I've never had much luck, myself." He sipped from the glass in his hand, a charming beaujolais that hadn't seemed to notice that it was not at all the right time of year for beaujolais. "You've done a beautiful job, my dear."

Crowley looked – did he? yes, behind the sunglasses – pleased. "It's the talking," he said. He was sprawled on the sofa, one snakeskin (one devoutly hopes) boot upon the coffee table, wineglass loosely cupped in his fingers. "You have to talk to them to really get results."

"Do you remember that shop I had in Rome?" The angel turned to look quizzically at Crowley. "In the Via dell'Immacolata Concezione?"

"No." Crowley took a drink. "Wait, yes. Ninth century?"

"The very one. I wanted so much to have a vine-covered trellis, or an ivy-covered wall, but I couldn't manage it at all." Aziraphale gazed at the shining greenery again. "To think, if only I'd bid it good day, wished it good health, perhaps..." He trailed off on a sigh, then leaned forward toward the plant. "What a wovewy gweat dieffenbachia you are," he crooned, in much the same tones that Sister Mary Loquacious had spoken, not too many years before, to the infant Anti-Christ. "Such pwecious stwong weaves!" He beamed upon the plant, expression faltering when a leaf fell off at exactly that moment. An unseen (or felt, or heard, and the angel's hearing was excellent) draft of air caused the galatea's leaves to flick almost contemptuously, and Aziraphale stood upright again, rather hurt. "Oh, dear."

Crowley stretched and unfolded himself from the sofa. "No wonder your ivy kicked off," he said. "No, you've really got to show them who's boss." He stalked across the room to stand beside Aziraphale and loomed over the potted tree. "Like this." The demon bent for a moment to scoop up the fallen leaf. "Listen here, you," the demon hissed, straightening, "you'll measure up and grow right or I'll find myself a plant that will, understand? There's plenty of dieffenbachia out there who'd be happy to have it as good as you have, and plenty of cold rubbish bins just waiting for a houseplant that steps out of line, right? It's coming on winter now, you know, so we'll have no more of _this_ –" he brandished the leaf before Aziraphale's horrified eyes (and presumably the plant's, as well, though as it had no face, it was difficult to say) – "if you know what's best for you."

The plant seemed to glow; never had the angel seen a dieffenbachia that stood straighter, or had shinier, healthier-looking foliage.

"See?" Crowley said. "Just need to talk to them." He smirked, a rather sharp-toothed smirk, and snapped his fingers. The fallen leaf vanished.

"That's, ah." Aziraphale took refuge in his wineglass, bringing the level down to half-full. "Most effective, Crowley. ...Goodness me, I'm rather peckish, I find. Have you any sweets about the place?"

Crowley grumbled and slouched away toward the spotless kitchen.

Aziraphale leaned toward the plant. "Really a fine show, though," he whispered.

When it twitched disdainfully once more, the angel attempted a scowl (though it was more petulant than frightening). "I see," he muttered, and emptied his wineglass into the soil. "Bring another bottle of wine, won't you my dear?" he called toward the kitchen. "I rather fancy a chardonnay, I think."


End file.
